Philophobia
by ihadnowittyusername
Summary: Loosely related drabbles concerning four brothers and their relationships...or lack thereof. [Nickname]
1. Sometimes

**I.  
**Sometimes, he wonders if she's right. He questions himself. Wonders why he doesn't end it. He ultimately, always comes back to wondering if she's right for him. They met when they were kids. They know everything about each other. And yet, people change. He has. He's grown up. He doesn't do (all of) the reckless shit he used to do. Doesn't steal. Doesn't sell. And sometimes he wonders if that's the guy she's looking for. That's the one she fell in love with.

Sometimes, he wants to let go. She'll say something. Something small and yet something hard. He'll get angry. Too angry.

Sometimes, Bobby'll have to tell him not to make a mistake. He wonders why Bobby would say anything. Why Bobby would care. Bobby hates Sofi. So he asks him one day and without faltering or even sparing a glance, Bobby says "she's your girl,"

Contrary to all of the times he had been eager to tell Angel about Sofi fucking other guys. About Sofi around town with other guys. He wonders what's changed and yet he doesn't say anything. He doesn't ask, because somehow he knows.

She's _his_ girl.

And there are times like these, when she's propped up on one elbow, in one of his over-sized shirts, talking about how good the quesadillas her mother used to make, were. And those times outweigh all of the _sometimes_ by far.

**An:** A sorta-kinda series of drabbles. And I say sorta-kinda because I can never get them down to one hundred even. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed the first one..and second. Thanks for reading!


	2. Innocence

**II.  
**Bobby lost his virginity to a woman twice his age.

He didn't exactly like her. It was awkward. They were balancing as best they could, with him, propping her up onto one of the stalls in the woman's bathroom in some cheap bar that he shouldn't have been in, in the first place. She smelled like cigarette smoke and the whiskey she had been drinking and he didn't like her makeup. He went home smelling like cheap perfume and worked furiously at getting the lipstick stain out of his shirt.

He had thrown it away and Evelyn had found it in the trash a couple days later and wondered why he didn't just come to her and ask her how to get the lipstick out and then she wondered who her fifteen year old son had been around. Or, at least who Bobby had been hugging because even though kids are getting rather promiscuous earlier on, she hadn't seen any yet, with bright red lipstick.

She would effectively get the stain out and leave it on his bed and she wouldn't ask him about it– contrary to her usual tactics of getting him to talk– and he'll wonder if she wonders.

But they won't bring it up.

Bobby can't get the smell out of his mind. He keeps thinking about _her_. And he thinks about why she looked so pretty under the bar lights and why he told her that he loved her, even if he really didn't know her name, and why he wanted to impress the guys at school so much.

And Evelyn never asks.

And anytime Bobby _fucks_ a girl he can't help but to think of her and how when he said 'I love you' she didn't say it back and how he hadn't said it to anyone, ever since. Even if he– at select moments of insanity– had wanted to.

And how he'll never-- no matter what-- say it again. Even if he doesn't mind the prospect of hearing it back.


	3. Precedence

**III.**  
"Don't answer that," she moans. Next, she sighs when Jerry reaches across her to grab the phone.

Camille's on the bed. She's leaning back into a body pillow, the comforter pulled up, over her bosom. Her arms are folded and she's smiling at Jerry who has a look of concern on his face. She keeps on smiling, although she's concerned also. She convinces herself that if she keeps that smile on, it'll be ok. She runs her hand over her husband's back, gently scratching at it with her trimmed fingernails. He looks back at her, once more, before standing up and pulling on his boxers.

"Who is it baby?" she rolls her eyes when he doesn't answer, cursing to herself, when she hears Amelia began to cry in the room over. She rises, automatically, reaching out for her robe. When she gets back in the room Jerry's putting on his shoes. He looks up at her, giving her a tired smile.

"Who was it?"

"Jack. He...I don't know. He was talking so fast I couldn't...understand,"

Camille purses her lips, rolling her eyes and making a 'mmm' sound.

"He's... I can't leave him out there. I just can't. I would if it were Angel or something but..."

"I know," she smiles, shedding her robe and throwing it into the hamper, "she threw up on me,"

"You think we're a little past our prime?"

"I'm starting to think that we've _been_ past our prime," she chuckles and smiles and pretends that it doesn't bother her. She pretends that in a year or so the late night calls from Jack'll stop and Jerry will stop telling him that he'll "be on his way" at four in the morning. She pretends like it doesn't bother her when Jack shows up on their doorstop unexpectedly. She reminds herself that he's been having a rough time without Bobby or Angel around. She pretends that one time, just one, she'll come first.


	4. Experience

**IV.**  
When she enters the door she's chuckling, holding the contraband close to her heart. She hands Jack a beer before slinkily making her way over to the CD player. She sways back and forth, back and forth, even if there's no music playing yet.

He leans back, onto the bed post, watching her closely. There's a flicker in his eye. A sparkle, maybe.

"Can I light up?" he asks, already fumbling around in his coat pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

She gives a very short nod and throws her hand up in the air. She finds a suitable song and smiles at him.

He doesn't know what to say. Bobby and him have talked about it. How it would happen. What to say. Usually with innuendo's included. Stifled laughter. Knowing glances. Jack rolling his eyes. Now, he feels naked, before he's even undressed. She looks out-of-place. He feels out-of-place.

"I'm gonna go...change," she points behind her– to the bathroom– pressing the head of the beer bottle to her lips and pushing her head back gently. She drinks. He does also. She smiles. He tries to.

He calls her later on to try to explain why he ran off when she was in the bathroom. He tells her about an imaginary cell phone and how his ma had called wanting him back home for something. She seems ok and doesn't fret when he tells her that he can't spend any time with her next weekend. That's not it though. No. He's not ready. He doesn't want to be ready. Yet, there's always that lasting fear that she won't understand that. That they all won't understand. At least, from experience, they won't.


	5. Perfect

**V.  
**Bobby's never had a girlfriend.

Relationships are touchy for him. They're different. He's never actually _told_ a girl they were together. Or asked, rather. He's never really even made it apparent that he's liked a girl. He usually doesn't. They're all the same to him. All of them. Touchy, useless and impossible.

He looks at sex, as a necessity. Not something that two lovers share. He's shared it with people who's names he can't even recall.

And it's easy. Of course it is. They'll all– the hockey team– go out to a bar and it'll happen almost naturally. His lips'll start moving before he's even sure he wants to speak. And he'll say something stupid and he'll be drunker than usual because if he isn't than he may just realize his mistake.

But she wakes up.

She wakes up when he's getting dressed. She's groggy and tired and the first thing she says is "do you want breakfast?" and he wonders what that means. He wonders if she knows that this is it. That he's getting dressed and leaving.

"I have to go," Bobby checks his watch, "work," he lies. He hasn't worked in years. Of course, if hockey isn't considered work.

She's still out of it when she nods and Bobby slips out of the room and gets to the end of the hallway before he realizes he isn't breathing. Before he realizes that he's scared. And he'll go and hang out in some of the guy's rooms and he won't tell them about it but they'll know.

For a moment, Bobby felt bad for the girl.

Bobby never feels bad.

And yet, with her brown hair and her pink lips and her soft skin, he felt bad. He felt like a monster. He knows that she probably had some idea of what would happen and it involved going out to get a cup of coffee and him getting her number. And it's never easy, seeing that you're the person that breaks someone's dreams. Sex is habit for him.

Yet, he'll pick up Amelia and he'll wonder when it turns into _this_ instead of a _habit_. He wonders if he'll ever find someone to make something _so_ beautiful with. For a split second, she's it. She's cute. Not beautiful. Cute. Yet, he sees something in her. He really does.

For a split second he pauses, before leaving the room, and wonders if he should ask her out for a cup of coffee.

He sees something special. He see's...perfection.

Which is exactly why he leaves as fast as he could. If it's one thing Bobby knows, it's that he can't compete with perfection.


	6. No

**VI.  
**He feels sick.

The room is spinning. He does the only thing he knows how to. It's habit. _Or_ at least it has been for the last couple of years. He's done it many times. If he didn't they would think him...strange. So, he has to. He has to do it time after time with random people in shitty hotels.

So he shuts his eyes.

He lets the room slip away from him. He lets his grip slip away. He lets his consciousness slip away. Or, at least he tries to.

His touch feels warm. His hands are roaming. He slips one under his flimsy shirt, running it over his stomach and pulling him closer from the small of his back. He rests his hand _there_ and before Jack can even think to, his body thinks for him. He gasps, opening his eyes to finally see the person. He's chuckling. He's mocking him. He's having a nice time. He's done this before.

So has Jack. And he can't stop thinking about that time. He can't stop thinking about a thirty year old who stole his innocence. He can't stop thinking about sleeping, and feeling fingers– long, spidery things– running through his hair.

He asks him if he wants to do it and Jack takes a deep breath in, almost afraid to continue. He nods, without even meaning it. He wants it to stop. He wants it to all be over. He wants to feel normal. He wants to feel good. He wants to feel apathetic. He wants to not feel at fucking all. He wants the room to stop spinning. He wants the fingertips, pressing into his back to stop.

Yet, Jack nods, afraid to say no– afraid to say anything really– because when he did say no before, when he begged and cried, it had only made it worse.


	7. Childish

**VII.**  
She's too young.

That's exactly what he thinks. Her face is soft, kind of round. She's slightly chubby. Her eyes are round. Her lips are full. He's unsure if this is baby fat or not. He thinks it is though. Everything on her is soft and gentle and curvy. She hasn't been bitten by the LA sting yet. That whole "I'm one hundred pounds with ten more pounds to go" attitude. She doesn't exactly fit in. Her jeans aren't skinny. Her shirt doesn't look worn and as if it hasn't been washed in a few months. Her hair isn't spiked and multiple colors.

On the other hand, her shirts aren't shiny and club-ready. Her hair isn't flat-ironed and expertly flipped under.

She's normal, and by LA standards, fat.

Ben has his eyes on her. He's been watching her for awhile. She's laughing at something that isn't really funny and her friend is checking out Lance. Jack wonders if she can notice that Ben likes her. It's rare, for Ben to actually take a girl back to his room. She would have to be special. Something different about her. At first Jack had kind of looked up to Ben. He didn't even really give passing glances to the girls that watched sparkle-eyed in those cheap bars. It didn't take Jack to long to realize, however, that Ben uses women all the same. He puts the numbers on his shelf and keeps them as novelty. He probably looks back over all of his oddities with pride.

He whispers something in her ear and Jack wonders what, but doesn't ask. And when they get up and leave together, Jack doesn't object. He thinks about what she has to lose. He wonders if she'll look back on the night with contempt. He wonders if she'll be ninety pounds by the end of the year. He wonders if she's a virgin. Maybe, even if she's ever kissed a guy or how many guys she's kissed.

He finds himself in the corner of the bar, on the pay phone.

"Ma?" he's whispering and he doesn't even know why. He sighs when he hears her voice. A sigh of relief. When she asks why he's calling so late he says: "I just wanted to know you were there,"

And that's it. It's not really. It's just that, that's where the conversation ends. Really, Jack wonders about the chubby girl every-so-often but truly, he's just wondering when it became so easy for things to change so fast. He wonders if her parents know where she is or why she's there. Although, he knows that this is normal. Things must change. So he tells his mother bye, and plans to hold onto his life as tight as he can.


	8. Dislike

**VIII.  
**Every time Jack wants to hate Bobby, he remembers that he doesn't like him.

If they weren't brothers than he would've never even met Bobby. They wouldn't have ever hung out in the same circles. He would've probably looked at him with contempt, as he called Jack him 'homo' before bursting into laughter with a group of friends. He would've probably been the guy that stole his lunch money everyday on his way to school. He's the guy that Jack would grow up to hate, placing all of his passive aggressive frustrations in that area.

However, no matter who Bobby is, he's his brother. He has a protective hand resting on Jack's thigh and he's saying something along the lines of "if you ever need anything..." in preparation for what Jack _knows_ will be him leaving again.

And Jack knows, that even if he may dislike Bobby at that time, he still loves him.

**An: **When I first wrote this I didn't intend on it all being about relationships between couples and whatnot but instead relationships in general. _Including_ between the brothers.


	9. Family

**IX.**  
The first time he ever imagines cheating on his wife is after their first fight.

He's in a bar that he vaguely remembers being in before with Bobby and he notices that_ she_ keeps on looking at him. He asks her if she wants a drink and orders her a second of what she was already having, getting one for himself. He imagines how Bobby would handle the situation.

He would do that thing where he lowers his voice to a near whisper and keeps that soothing kind of tone. He keeps a shit-eating grin and bites his lower lip for emphasis. He would lean over with that same kind of tone and he would say something obscene in the sweetest voice he could muster.

However, he's not Bobby.

He's Jerry Mercer and he has a wife and two children.

He walks her to her car and contemplates going with her before he realizes something. He doesn't want to cheat. He doesn't want to do that near whisper thing that Bobby does. He wants to argue with his wife and take a walk to cool off before coming home to find that she had been waiting the whole time, on the couch with that same worried look he loves. He wants to love her. He wants to love her and he wants to argue with her and he wants to grow old with her.

And in the future sometime, he wants to tell his kids about how he would _never_ and never did cheat on their mother.

He imagines Bobby, some years older than him, and how he would've already been back at her house, pinning her down to the bed and that's ok with him. That's not Jerry's style. That's not what he wants. He wants a family. He wants to be the family guy.


	10. Ignorance

**X.**  
He looks sleepy. His hair is frizzy, messy and all over the place. His lips are bruised. He's breaths are short and muffled by the bed pillow he's breathing into. His eyes are barely open and he can see sleep tugging a them moment to moment. He's smirking, biting the corner of his lip, before he runs his tongue over the bottom one and moans. Then, he rolls over, almost mockingly.

"Jack?" the one standing in the doorway is kind of frightened. He's afraid of losing him. He's always been afraid of losing him. Yet, that doesn't seem to matter. Jack seems calm. Calmer than he's every saw him before, "Jack?" he repeats, pulling on his boxers and taking a swig of the beer in his hand, "Jack–"

"What?" he finally rolls back over, a little agitated. Not really though. He couldn't honestly be angry or agitated with the blonde.

"When do I get to meet them?"

"Who?"

"Your family,"

Frankie's been sleeping with Jack for a few months and he hasn't met his family. He hasn't met his family and nor has he gotten more than tidbits of time with him, snuck in between his life and Jacks. He imagines that it isn't how it should go. Their lives should be somewhat interconnected.

"You met my mom,"

"You didn't even tell her we were dating," he says it in a way that tells Jack that it's been on his mind for a long time. He says it too quick. As if he were just waiting for the moment it would come up so he could throw it in Jack's face.

"Are we dating?" Jack mumbles, not really meaning it. It just feels _cheesy_ saying that they're boyfriends. First of, Jack isn't gay. If it's one thing that's been clear to him it's that. Second off, they aren't little school girls toting hand-made valentines.

Frankie looks kind of hurt. He finds Jack's pants and pulls the cigarette carton out, stealing one.

He lights it and takes a drag, rolling his head back and around, massaging his temples in the mean time.

"You introduced me as a friend–"

"You are a friend,"

"You might as well introduced me as the one you were fucking. That would've been closer to the truth," he hisses, standing and pulling on Jack's pants even if they're too small.

Jack doesn't stand up. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell him that they aren't children and that they should lay down some rules, even though that's what he's thinking. And Frankie will come back an hour later with Chinese and he'll find Jack watching a some old comedy movie and they'll eat and talk as if it never happened.

Frankie, because he knows that it could be the argument that would send Jack away and Jack, because he really does care about Frankie even if he believes otherwise.

Either way, they'll stay "friends" for a long time.


	11. Demons

**XI.  
**Jack's clutching on to the damned folder that got him into the whole mess. He's clutching at it, holding it close to his heart and his eyes are glazed over. Bobby says something faint and gentle but it's lost in the sea of voices surrounding them. He looks horrible. He looks tired. Worn out. He's bouncing his foot, under the table. He's clutching at that folder because he knows that if he isn't he'll be tapping the table or pounding or doing anything to try and take his mind off of it. Jack looks worse than he did before. He, however, looks clean. It hadn't been that long ago when Jack had started hanging out with some kid in English who actually tracked him down to return his folder, per his contact information scribbled into it. It hadn't been that long since Jack had started coming home late, always with a far off look in his eyes, while he spoke in some kind of rhyme, about why the sky is blue.

It hadn't been that long since Jack had checked into Pine Meadows, the rehabilitation center.

Jack keeps looking down, afraid to acknowledge is brother.

"Ma wants to come see you," he's desperate, trying to find Jack's eyes, "Jack you listening? Jack?"

"What?"

He looks up, quickly, to try subdue his brother, before his gaze falls once more.

Jack rhymes when he's high. He comes up with nursery rhymes or riddles and words that match. He makes his best music then.

Bobby imagines that it's because all of those demons he's so afraid of are gone, for the moment, in the back of his mind where they can get to and eat up his creativity. He imagines that those demons are eating him at that moment. Him, in such a big facility. Him, so lanky and thin and scrawny.

"I want to come home," he mumbles, clutching at his stupid folder. Bobby nods, and tries to change the look he knows is plastered across his face. The look of horror, "I want to come home," he repeats once more.

"I love you Jack," he reminds him, standing.

Jack bites his bottom lip, a tear rolling down his cheek. He solemnly stands, and walks out of the visiting area. Bobby gets half way down the street before he makes the U-turn. It comes after he remembers those demons. The ones that keep Jack up at night. The ones that used to keep Bobby up at night when he was young enough to still wander into his room aimlessly and ask him if he could sleep in his bed. Those people in that place have their own set of demons, but Jack has two. His past and his addiction. Bobby turns back because he's almost certain that he knows what's best for his brother, just like all of those nights when he would wander in aimlessly and Bobby would have to talk ask him endless questions until he would fall asleep.


	12. Excuses

**XII.  
**Jack's never slept with a girl before.

He's sixteen, and all of his friends share stories about how the girls they've fucked or the girls they've sucked or the girls they've done other things to. He tries to play it quiet, and chuckles and laughs always in the background as to not cause attention. He's never fucked, sucked or done anything else to a girl. He did, however, kiss a girl behind her tool shed the first year he had moved in with Evelyn.

This is different though. He doesn't like the feeling of her fingertips on his bare skin. When he tries to open his mouth, and tell her so, she places her manicured finger over his lips. She chuckles, before she replaces that finger with her lips.

He rests his hands at her hips, pulling her closer. Trying to gain some of her confidence. Some of her warmth and sexuality.

They're underneath the bleachers and he suddenly feels self conscious. They aren't watching them though. They're "friends" are occupied with bigger and better things. Suddenly, when she's unzipping his pants, he remembers how much he had to drink and how sick he feels and he remembers that he had barely eaten anything all day. She starts at his chest and her hands fall down, down, down, until he finds himself choking.

Bobby's going to kill him when he gets home.

She pulls him down, her fingers interlocked, to make a glove that's enveloping his neck.

She pulls away though, when she hears footsteps. The rest is a blur of flashing sirens and laughing. Not only laughing but running. He sees her again when she's ahead of him, although she spares a glance backwards, the same way one would eye their prey. They'll never know that the "police car" they had seen was a mere security guard. She walks him to his door and he tells her how much fun he had, slipping inside before his legs collapse and he's leaning up against the wall, with his legs folded under him, trying to come up with an excuse for the next time they want to hang out.


	13. Nightmares

**XIII.**  
Bobby doesn't talk about his past.

Not like the rest of them do. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like to think about it. He doesn't like to remember it. He hates the way she would look at him with those large, brown eyes and request things he didn't even know he could give. How she would talk in that delicate kind of tone. How her hair was always wiry and messy and how she would pull him, behind her at the super-market watchfully and carefully, snarling if anyone touched him.

She stole his innocence before she stole his virginity.

She gave him this "streak". This streak of undermining and dominating women. No matter how hard he tried he always had to save them. Even her, with her wiry hair and clutching fingers. He didn't exactly hate her. Her voice would pound in his ear. It would sting at him. She would tell him things. Things about how good it could all be. About how good he could feel. He kept on waiting on that feeling, always left with a queasy stomach instead.

He hadn't brought it up since he had told Evelyn.

She had smiled, gently and reassuringly, and told him that he wouldn't have to talk about it again.

However, now he knows he has to. Jack is sitting on the porch steps, taking in cigarette smoke while he concentrates. His eyes are closed. His hands are shaking. Bobby sits down next to him, making enough noise to make his presence known although, Jack never stirs. He eyes the cigarette in Jack's hand hungrily before parting his lips to say something that he's unsure he even wants to be heard.

"Yeah. I used to have nightmares about it too,"


	14. Nickname

XIV.  
Jack never really did enjoy being called Jackie. Or Jackie-poo, cracker-jack, jackie-boy, fairy, sweety, princess, or sweetheart for that matter. He preferred Jack. Sometimes even Jackson. His step-dad used to call him Jackie. Sometimes he would catch himself dozing and he would suddenly hear "Jackie-boy," his head snapping up at the innocuous act. He would even expect to see him there. His old step-dad of course. He didn't expect to see Bobby looking at him suspiciously, his lips bending back into an uncertain smile.

He expected totally different reactions. And sometimes Bobby would yell without meaning to. He would raise his voice a little higher than he expected. He would pat him on the back a little too hard and he would flinch involuntarily, pushing him away as if there was actually some harm done.

It would always turn out the same though. He would catch himself, a little surprised and always more secure than the last time. Evelyn definitely summed it up the best when she said "you know Jackie, you don't have to keep your guards up all the time anymore,"


End file.
